


Dance of the Veils

by jcrycolr3wradc



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcrycolr3wradc/pseuds/jcrycolr3wradc
Summary: Every third weekend of the month, there's a hoedown at Spirit Albarn's barn. Kid will sit next not his Father, the Pastor Morte, and atch Crona Gorgon, daughter of the heather witch, dance.





	Dance of the Veils

Dance of the Veils.

Also known as: IDK what even AU this is. Only that is ahistorical as fuck.

Crona Gorgon loved to dance.

Kid Morte the III knew this because every third weekend at the Albarn Farm when Spirit hosted his hoe-down Crona Gorgon would appear in the only nice threadbare dress she owned, the one of light blue cotton and her white apron and dance.

Kid wondered if her mother, the only heather witch in the county knew that her daughter was out dancing. Mrs. Gorgon and her daughter were never at church on Sundays, they never did a barn raising, they never helped with the Thanksgiving.

People were warned to stay away from the Gorgon house, and not all mothers let their sons dance with Crona. She didn’t seem to mind, spending hours with the boys who did. The colored boys, the Mexicans, the old men. She seemed pleased just to dance, and Kid watched.

She had an odd sort of grace, despite that she was taller than all the boys at school, and not pretty the way Maka, Spirit’s daughter, or the way Elizabeth and Patricia were. Her hair was cropped close to her face and Kid had heard people whisper that she had mites. Kid quietly doubted this and had the feeling that it was her mother who made Crona keep her hair so short.

He knew that it was Mrs. Gorgon who made Crona dress all in black, from her ankles to wrists in a plain black shift, her hair covered in a short white cap.

“It’s because she has mites,” Soul told Kid.

Kid’s father was the one who had told him that Crona’s mother was a witch and that she’d ensnare him if Kid let her. Kid tried hard not to allow himself, avoiding Crona when he could, but every third weekend, when he and his father the Pastor Morte took the four wheeled wagon down to Spirit’s barn, he’d watch Crona Gorgon dance.

That night when he’d get home he’d open his bible to the story of Salome and John the Baptist, kneeling on the floor and read it until the words were burned into his eyelids and his lips were numb from repeating the words, _Dear Father in Heaven, Lead us Not into Temptation._

He’d dream of snakes and veils, and Crona would dance before him, her periwinkle blue eyes staring into his and all too late Kid would realize his head was on a platter.

XXX

One third weekend, in the deep winter, after the new year, Pastor Morte fell ill.

He coughed into his handkerchief all Saturday long and when the evening fell he told Kid he was too ill to go to Spirit’s barn dance.

“Son, you shall go in my place. Remind the flock to be temperate and not to over indulge,” he said, placing his hat on Kid’s head. His eyes twinkled. “Especially Spirit.”

Mouth dry and hands trembling Kid took the reins of the wagon and drove the mare through the dusting of snow.

Maybe Crona Gorgon would not go tonight. Maybe it would keep snowing and prevent her. Maybe Kid would be strong enough to resist if she turned her eyes to his, wanting to dance.

The party had already started when Kid arrived. The older people talking against the wall, most of them nursing rye whiskey. The small children were playing blind man’s bluff, giggling as one of the twins chased the other with the blindfold on.

And in the middle of the barn, crowded with Kid’s school fellows or the teenagers from the other counties, dancing wildly with Kilik Rung, was Crona Gorgon.

Her face was flushed and her bangs were sticking to her face. As Kid watched she smiled and her pink tongue peeked from between her teeth, licking at her bottom lip.

Kid was so, so weak.

With trembling legs, he sat down on one of the benches next to the floor. He kept his hands clasped and head down, like he was waiting for the electric chair.

The music, fiddles, common flutes, a hand drum, the banjo, went on forever and ever. Kid was perspiring, and his heart was pounding.

She must have seen him come in. She must know he was waiting, here without his father, for her to approach him.

When the last note from the flute died and the applause stopped, Kid held his breath.

Someone sat beside him on the bench.

“I’ve seen you here before,” a quiet voice said, and Kid looked over.

Crona Gorgon was sitting next to him, her long stocking clad legs extended in front of them, one pale arm crossed over her chest to grasp at the other.

Kid swallowed, and nodded. “I’m Kid Morte. The Pastor’s son.”

Crona nodded. “Why are you here alone?” She asked.

“My father’s fallen sick. I was sent in his place.”

She nodded again and looked over as the band started gearing up for a new song.

“Would you like to dance with me, Kid Morte?”

_Say no, say no, say no, say no! You fool! Dear father who art in heaven lead us not into temptation…_

Her eyes were the color of a winter morning on the prairie after it snowed. Her skin was clear, almost transparent looking. She was taller than any the boys at the school.

Kid’s heart beat in time to the tambourine.

“Yes.” The word slipped out without any permission.

Crona smiled at him. Kid’s spine went cold. She held out a slender hand and Kid took it, reaching for a greater knowledge than what he currently possessed and knowing he was going to be damned for it.

XXX

Winter had long passed and summer had come rolling in over the plain with thunderstorm, and June bugs and fireflies. The grasses waved in sheens of gold and green while butterflies the colors of the rainbow skimmed over the tops of them.

Kid rolled over to look up at the clear blue sky, just barely dusted with white clouds and smiled like a moron. He arched back and groaned. Next to him, Crona cooed. Her hand was inside of his shirt, over his heart. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her white cap and her close cropped hair spilled over his fingers when Kid brought their mouths together. He rolled back over, on top of her.

Crona moaned and arched under him, hand sliding around to grasp at his back. He cupped her breast through her back shift and swallowed her quiet squeal as his thumb brushed over her nipple.

As they moved together, nestled together under the towering pines that had been here longer than Kid’s family had, he reflected on his prayers and the lessons of the Bible.

If this knowledge was so forbidden, then why did it feel so…divine?

If Crona was a witch then why did she fell like she made for him, the son of a Man of God?

If this was temptation then was Kid the original sinner, reborn?

Crona’s breath was hot over his ear as he got his hand up her dress and somewhere, below his waist, Crona grabbed him.

If she was Salome, please dear God, let him be her John the Baptist.

After all Crona Gorgon did so love to dance.

Kid was so, so weak.

FIN.

A/N: Shrugs. Hell if I know what any of that was about. Pseudohistorical/religious AU that ended in smut?           


End file.
